The mothers would meet some mornings at the corner café after dropping the children off at school, work permitting.

They liked to sit on the terrace if the weather was nice, and if not, inside at the corner table where they could watch without being seen. There they would spend part of the morning talking about "women's things," which invariably involved children and, of course, men in general and certain women in particular.

Today they were all there. The four of them, sitting at the table on the terrace, spoke in hushed tones and laughed.

"Who hasn't heard someone say, 'This one wants to be the baby at the christening, the bride at the wedding, and the deceased at the funeral?'" one of them said. "Well, I've not only heard it, I've said it myself." And the truth is, even now, when I think about it, my hair stands on end—with rage!

"What do you mean your hair stands on end?" one of them replied, laughing. "Was it that bad?"

"You see... Not long ago, in fact, very recently, I lived with my family in a small but very cosmopolitan coastal town. I had neighbors of all nationalities. I loved it because it made me feel like I was in an imaginary city that could be anywhere in the world. My next-door neighbors were an elderly English couple, very kind and always smiling. They were lovely. However, I don't know what happened, but from one day to the next, they sold the apartment to another Brazilian family."

The young woman who was speaking was silent for a moment. Her expression changed. She took a sip of coffee and continued:

"The woman was a fiery Brazilian, the kind who makes men turn their heads when they walk by. She knew it." At first, everything was fine. As you know, I'm not one to meddle in other people's business or have much contact with the neighbors. A 'good morning' or 'good afternoon,' and that's it. However, this girl kept knocking on the door with any excuse: 'Do you have any sugar, please? I haven't been able to go shopping...' 'Could I leave my children here this afternoon? I have something to run...' Anyway, little by little, she seeped into my home, almost casually, and became like part of the family."

"And her husband? Didn't she have a husband or what?"

"Ah, her husband...! He was an engineer at a diamond mine in Africa and spent months and months away. In fact, I never even met him. Besides, that was one of the reasons I felt sorry for her; She said she was very lonely in a foreign country, with two children, no family, no friends..."

Again she fell silent, sighed deeply, and continued:

"If only I had known then!"

"Go on, go on. What happened?"

"Juan, my husband, wasn't too happy about that woman coming into the house as if it were her own, at any hour and in any way."

One of the women who had been silent until then, listening attentively, said:

"What do you mean, Juan? Isn't your husband's name Antonio?"

"Yes, my current husband's name is Antonio, but back then I was married to Juan. But, wait, wait..."

She took another sip of her drink and continued:

"Juan was fed up. He said he had married a woman, not a woman and her friend."

"How dramatic!" one of the women whispered.

"You see..." At first, she was just a normal friend, but I don't know what happened to me, what she did to me... I became indispensable. She couldn't do anything without me. She had to ask my advice for everything, absolutely everything... It got to the point that—and this is what exasperated my husband—she convinced me that it would be a good idea for each of us to have a key to the other's house, just in case.

"I have my neighbor's key too, of course!" the other girl retorted.

"Oh yes, but I'm sure you don't use it to walk into your neighbor's house at any hour without knocking, do you? Well, that's what my 'little friend' was doing. At first, she'd walk in dressed normally. Her lack of tact was annoying; she didn't seem to consider at all whether it might interfere with our relationship. The thing is, since she seemed so naive, I spoke to her one day and told her that my husband was upset and that I didn't think it was normal for her to just walk in like that, without knocking." She burst into tears, so inconsolable she seemed like a little girl suffering from a scolding by a domineering mother. She told me we were like family to her, that she loved us very much, and that she didn't mean to bother us at all; she gave me back the key and said she'd never do it again. The truth is, I felt like the wicked witch in the story. I told her that was all wrong, that she should forgive me, that we loved her very much, and that she could come in whenever she wanted.

Everything went back to normal. She would come in, but she always knocked first.

One day, while Juan was watching football, Rita, as she was called, knocked and came in. She sat down opposite my husband, right next to the TV. She was wearing shorts and a tank top. She sat a bit carelessly. I was in the kitchen preparing an appetizer. When I came into the living room, the two of them were chatting amiably, and my husband was no longer interested in the game.

Life went on pleasantly. Rita spent more time at my house than at her own. My husband didn't seem to mind that my friend came in without knocking and that she was in our house as if it were her own.

One day I ran into another neighbor in the elevator who told me: "Be careful with those goody-two-shoes..."

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"Be careful with your neighbor. She's one of those who always has to be the center of attention at the christening, the bride at the wedding, the deceased at the funeral... Always the star of the show!"

That seemed like a mean thing to do, but I kept mulling it over... The truth is, Rita was starting to get on my nerves. She talked and talked. She told me about her problems, her life, her misfortunes... but had she ever listened to me? I realized that she hadn't at all! I was getting tired of having a grown daughter 'crying' all the time and constantly demanding attention without giving anything in return. But I was wrong, she did give something in return. She gave a lot in return. The only problem was that she wasn't giving it to me, but... to my husband!

"Ah!" the other three jumped up in their seats.

"You'll never guess how it all ended?" she said with a mixture of sadness and despair. "Well, one day I came home from work and found my poor little friend Rita and my dearest husband in bed comforting each other! As you can imagine, I was horrified." "I kicked them both out."

"And what happened next?" one of them asked.

"Well, she was the baby at other baptisms, and especially the bride at many other weddings. Juan and I separated. What became of him, I neither know nor care."

"And her? Did she separate too?"

"No, her husband didn't find out, or didn't want to find out... Apparently, they stayed together."

One of the young women, the one who had been silent the whole time, said:

"What did you say your neighbor's name was?"

"Rita."

"And she was from Brazil, dark-haired, vivacious, with two children and a husband who was an engineer at a diamond mine in Africa?"

"Yes. Why? Do you know her too?"

"Yes, I knew her a little. She died of a heart attack last year when she was at another neighbor's wake."